Lost and Found
by Jade Nolan
Summary: When Jo takes Mac out to what seems like a straight-forward case in order to get him out of the office, a completely unanticipated dimension throws itself at Mac and leaves him contemplating something he had never thought he would.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_All original CBS characters are owned by CBS. Everyone else, is my creation and owned by me. Aside from that, this story is pretty self-explanatory. Enjoy, thanks so much for reading, and please review! :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Mac sighed and rolled his shoulders and neck in an attempt to relieve the ache that spread across them and down his back and willed the Excedrin he had taken, to work faster. It was one of those days where everything hurt, and he was reminded of the damage his body had taken over the years as both old and more recent injuries made themselves known again, and that he wasn't getting any younger. He picked the micropipette back up, and measured out its contents to the next row of small tubes. He didn't work in the actual lab near as much as he used to, but on days like this when his body was being contrary and making him remember certain things he usually preferred not to, he liked the distraction and the focus required for the task at hand.

He heard a knock behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Jo.

"There you are," she said. "I've been looking for you. You alright?" she asked, looking closer at him and noticing the tension which he hadn't been able to entirely erase from his face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, straightening up slightly.

Jo shot him a somewhat skeptical look that let him know she didn't really believe him, but she didn't press him further.

"What's up?" he asked.

"What looks like a domestic turned homicide in Queens, and you've looked like getting out would do you some good."

She was right, as usual, he thought. What with one thing and another demanding his attention as head of the whole place, he essentially hadn't left his office or the building for the last three days. The kind of stress he incurred from such confinements and responsibilities he knew was no small culprit of the accumulated tension and physical discomfort he was currently in.

"Ok," he said, "Give me ten minutes to finish this up."

"Sounds good," said Jo as she smiled at him before leaving.

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

As he stepped out of the truck into the sun, it hit him just how warm the weather was. He loved it. Just because he had grown up in Chicago and now lived in New York, didn't mean he _liked_ cold or cooler weather. Squinting up into the mid-afternoon sun, he took his suit jacket off and threw it on the small seat in the back of the truck and rolled up his sleeves. Retrieving his case, he followed Jo into the old apartment building and up the stairs. As he took in the worn steps, walls with residue that he really didn't want to know how long it had been accumulating, and the shaky banisters which would never stop anyone who happened to fall into them, the apparent backwardness of how going to a murder scene made him feel less stressed struck him. It brought a small, fleeting smile to his face.

The officer outside the apartment where they were headed opened the door and let them in. A small kitchen was immediately to their right, and looking straight ahead was the living room behind it and a hall that led to three doors behind which Mac assumed were two bedrooms and a bathroom. A dilapidated wood floor lay in the kitchen, and a completely worn down carpet covered the living room and hall. The place wasn't particularly dirty, but empty beer cans lined the counters and the place definitely looked like there had been a fight. From a hole in one of the cupboards and dents in the walls, it certainly hadn't been the first. Mac took it all in in a matter of seconds

The homicide detective on scene came from around the corner to meet them, and Mac felt the last of the tension weighing on him, disappear.

"Mac, Jo! How'd I get so lucky?" Flack greeted them with his broad, easy smile.

"Hey, Don," Jo replied.

Mac returned his friend's smile. "What do you got for us, Don?"

"Pretty obvious open and shut case if you ask me," Flack replied, leading the pair into the living room where their victim lay. She looked to be in her late twenties with her apparent COD being the open skull fracture on the side of her head. "Aubrea Matthews, 28, husband's name is Jason." Flack said, flipping open his notebook. "According to the neighbors there were often sounds of shouting and occasional fighting. Apparently the cops have come out a couple times, but no charges were ever filed." Flack gestured backwards towards the door as he continued, "There's no signs of forced entry, and since I don't see this place exactly attracting the burglary sort, I'm going with another domestic assault that this time led to murder."

"You found the weapon yet?" Mac inquired, kneeling down and pulling on his gloves to more closely inspect their victim's presumed fatal injury.

"No," said Flack, "Haven't searched every nook and cranny in the apartment, but it's nowhere just lying around I'll tell you that. And I got unis looking in the nearby dumpsters and trash bins as well. Certainly doesn't look like a murder anyone put any thought into so I don't anticipate it's gone all that far."

Mac nodded, picking up one of the victim's hands. "Defensive wounds and abrasions," he observed, "Finger shaped bruising on her arms…definitely confirms the history of domestic violence." He sighed. It was one of those things which escaped him. From an intellectual psychology perspective he could understand what led to spousal abuse and the mindset and perspective most abusers had; but on a personal level, he couldn't fathom even the slightest dimension of it.

"Mac?" Flack interrupted his train of thought.

"Yeah," Mac replied, looking up.

"Neighbors say there's a kid that lives here as well. Said they'd hear crying as well as fighting," Flack continued quietly.

Mac's heart sank. He hated it when kids were caught in the middle of a hopeless and senseless situation like the one that had clearly gone on in this apartment. "How old?" he asked.

Flack shrugged. "I've gotten everything from 2 to 6 years old. I get the feeling most people here stick to themselves pretty closely."

Mac wasn't at all surprised at Flack's latter assessment. _'Keep your head down, don't get into other people's business, and don't get the cops involved.'_ was generally the mantra amongst such locales. "That's still a pretty wide age range," he said, "No sign of the kid though?"

Flack shook his head.

Mac looked at his watch. It was 3:47pm. "Well, if they're five or six, they could be in school yet," he guessed.

But Flack shook his head again. "Already checked," he said. "I called over to the local elementary school. They have three kids with the last name of 'Matthews', but two are in fourth grade and one in third, and none of them have a parent named Aubrea or Jason."

"Do we even know if it's a boy or a girl?" Mac asked.

"A boy. They think. Not even sure on that score," Flack said. "And yes, I've got the alert out on both the husband and the kid separately as well as together. But my guess? The husband took the kid when he ran. What?" he asked, as Mac suddenly paused and looked over his shoulder.

Mac waited a few seconds before answering. "Nothing," he said, "Just thought I heard something."

Flack listened briefly as well before shrugging his shoulders. "I don't hear anything," he said, although certainly not glibly. Mac had an almost scary ability to pick up on things either long before anyone else did, or that most would have been missed entirely.

"Probably just someone next door," Mac dismissed. And Flack was probably right about the location of the kid, Mac thought, his heart settling heavier at the thought of the young child in the sole company of the man who had probably just killed his wife. Getting out his camera, he and Jo set about processing the scene.

But fifteen minutes later he paused again, setting his camera on his knee and listening.

"Mac?" Jo inquired.

But he simply held up one hand to quiet everyone and frowned slightly in concentration.

"Mac, what is it?" Jo asked in a low voice.

Mac didn't say anything, but something had sparked in his eyes and body.

Suddenly he put his camera on the ground and stood up, turning sharply to face down the hall and lay one hand on his gun. Jo and Flack immediately followed suit.

Mac edged down the small hallway to the first bedroom and pushed the door all the way open. There was a single, dilapidated looking sleeping bag shoved against the wall in one corner and precious little else in the small space besides a small dresser and a single stuffed animal. Jo found herself fervently hoping this wasn't where the child slept. Mac put his finger to his lips and reached out one hand to the single closet door. He quickly pulled it open and stepped to the side. But peering into the space, all he saw was a small foot just poking out from behind a stack of towels that were on the floor. Dropping his hand away from his gun, he knelt down and quickly removed the top half of the stack. And there, pushed into the back corner, was a little boy who looked no older than three. His face was streaked with tears, and at the sudden appearance of the three of them, he burst into crying that was nothing short of pure fear.

"Hey, it's okay," Mac said, reaching one hand out towards the little boy. But the terrified child shrunk away from him, practically shaking, and panic edging into his cries. A sick feeling entered Mac and anger flew through him as he noticed the finger shaped bruises on the boy's upper arms and what looked like three very fresh cigarette burns on his legs. He suddenly wondered if the domestic assault was the end result and not the beginning of the whole thing.

He slowly removed the entire stack of towels save one, leaving it in place so the boy didn't feel completely exposed. "It's okay," he repeated, staying kneeling in place and speaking in a volume that was just below the little boy's cries. His eyes never left the child's face who still wouldn't even look at him. "I'm not going to hurt you, it's okay." As he made no move toward the boy, but simply knelt in the closet doorway, the tone of the boy's crying and body language slowly changed slightly. Even though fear still radiated off him, Mac was no longer the one he was crying about.

"Daddy's going to kill me," the boy sobbed out in true terror.

Mac felt the anger that had been simmering, surge through him. There was no excuse for a child to live their life with that kind of genuine fear. "I promise, I will never let that happen," he told the boy.

For the first time, the child raised his eyes to meet Mac's, searching his face for the reassurance of the conviction and safety that had been in his voice.

"Come on," Mac coaxed, as the boy's crying calmed to silent chest heaves.

Slowly the boy inched from the back of the closet and towards Mac who remained kneeling in the doorway.

Mac picked him up, and the child instantly clung to him, his arms so tight around Mac's neck that Mac thought he might choke. And holding him, Mac could feel just how small and thin the boy was.

"Mac," Don said softly, now able to fully see the boy.

Mac looked up.

"It's not good," his friend said gently, his gaze scanning the child.

Mac felt his heart sink at the instant look of horror, anger, disgust and pain on Jo's face, and unfortunately he could only too easily imagine what the rest of the boy's body looked like.

Jo lay a gentle hand on the top of the boy's back.

Mac felt him instinctively flinch and tighten his small body against Mac's even further and start to cry again. He closed his arms reassuringly and protectively around the little boy.

"It's ok," Jo told the boy quietly, "What's your name?"

But he refused to answer or lift his head out of Mac's neck.

"What's your name?" Mac repeated softly in his ear.

But the poor child was beyond speaking and simply hung on to Mac with a level of exhausted desperation. And Mac felt something else stir inside him. He'd always had a soft spot for the kids and youngsters who'd crossed his path, seeing them as the most valuable and vulnerable of those around him, but there was something about the impact of the implicit trust that this child had decided to place in him that awoke emotions he hadn't ever really experienced before. Ones that were a step beyond those of the protection and care he usually felt. It shook him slightly, and he found he didn't want to let go of the boy either.

"Mac, he needs a hospital," Jo told him quietly.

Mac nodded. "I know," he said, "Go ahead and all an ambulance."

Jo fished out her phone and stepped away slightly.

"And Don?" Mac continued, "See if you can find anything around that'll let us know his name and his age."

"You got it," Flack replied, heading off to search the apartment and grabbing a couple officers to help him.

"…ok, thank you," Jo slid her phone back into her pocket. "They'll be here in about ten minutes," she told Mac.

Mac nodded, not once loosening his hold on the little boy.

Jo went up to Mac's shoulder again, where the child still hadn't lifted his head from. "Sweetheart?" she said gently. The boy didn't say anything. "Would it be alright if I lifted up your t-shirt a little?" she asked, laying an experimental, feather-light hand on his back. His body tightened slightly, but this time he didn't pull away. Jo carefully took hold of the bottom of his t-shirt, and Mac moved his arm slightly so she could pull it up. He lay his hand on the back of the boy's head and held him close. He was so little and helpless and fragile. If it wasn't for his level of speech, Mac still wouldn't have guessed the boy was any older than three.

From the look on Jo's face, Mac already knew what she was going to say and what she had seen. He shook his head at her. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to actually hear it. He just stood in the small, spare bedroom, his arms entirely around the little boy, his cheek against his head, murmuring in his ear and further calming him down.

Flack finally reappeared just as Mac could see the ambulance pull up next to the curb.

"I found his birth certificate," Flack said, "His name's Devon, and he turned four two months ago."

Hardly four years old, Mac thought, disgust and anger boiling through him at what the child had endured in his short life. The poor kid was now lying limply against him, utterly exhausted, but with his arms still locked around Mac's neck. "Is your name Devon?" he asked the boy as he heard footsteps approach from down the outside hall.

The small, blond head that hid in his shoulder nodded.

"Devon, do you know what an ambulance is?" Mac asked as Jo disappeared.

Another nod.

"Do you know what paramedics are?"

A slight pause, then a single shake 'no'.

"Paramedics are the people who work on ambulances and help people out and take you to the doctor to make you feel better," Mac explained.

"Is an ambulance coming here?" Devon asked in a very small voice.

Mac's heart about broke at just how truly little the boy sounded. "Yes," he said just as there was a knock on the door. The boy immediately cinched his arms around Mac's neck, burying his head in the small of Mac's neck and re-tightening his body against Mac's with a whimper of fright. Taking two steps to his left, out of the corner of his eye Mac could see around the doorway of the bedroom Flack letting the two FDNY medics in and escorting them over while giving them a brief rundown on the situation. They both looked to be only in their mid-twenties, but exuded and moved with an air of quiet, easy experience. "Hey, it's okay," Mac soothed Devon. The poor child probably thought it was his father coming back. "It's just the paramedics and ambulance I told you about. Remember?"

The little boy nodded marginally, and Mac could feel him slightly relax.

The young woman who appeared to be the lead medic approached them. "Hey there little guy," she said in a soft voice, laying a gentle hand on Devon's shoulder. "My name's Georgie. What's yours?"

But Devon refused to look up.

"It's okay," Mac assured the Devon, running his hand over the boy's hair. "You can answer her, she's one of the paramedics."

Leaving one arm draped around Mac's neck, Devon tucked his other one underneath him and against Mac's chest, and turned his head sideways against Mac's shoulder so he could peek out. "Devon," he finally replied in a quiet voice.

"Oh I like that name," Georgie told him. "And how old are you, Devon?"

"Four," Devon told her in an equally reserved voice.

"Four? Wow, you're getting to be quite a big boy, aren't you," said Georgie with a smile.

Devon didn't say anything, but Mac could sense his wary but increasing acceptance.

"Devon, do you hurt anywhere?" Georgie continued.

But Devon just kept himself tucked against Mac's chest and didn't answer. Mac resisted the urge to shift the boy in his arms which, small as the child was, were starting to let him know he'd been holding him the same way for a little while now.

"Do your legs hurt?" Georgie asked as she gently felt both his legs, carefully avoiding the round burn marks.

Devon nodded his head minutely.

"How about your arms?"

Devon shook his head, and Mac felt the boy's soft, fine hair against his neck at the movement. The _something_ he'd felt earlier surged forward even more strongly, and he couldn't have cared less that his arms were starting to burn from holding the little boy so securely.

"Does your face hurt a little bit?" Georgie continued, having noticed Devon's slightly swollen cheek and jaw line.

Devon gave her a small nod.

"Does your back hurt?" Georgie asked him, gently feeling his back and around the boy's ribs.

But as careful as her touch was, Devon melted into half-cries and shrunk against Mac. Mac felt his throat catch at the boy's obvious pain, and he placed his hand protectively around Devon's head and held him close. "Shhh, Devon, it's okay. It's okay," he murmured in the boy's ear.

From the end of the hallway by the second bedroom where Jo had reemerged unnoticed by Mac, she paused and just watched him. She had seen how he was around the few kids involved in the cases they'd worked together over the last couple years as well as around her own when she'd convinced him to join them for pizza a couple times, and she'd been impressed with his intrinsic, keen and gentle understanding. But seeing him in his rolled up shirt sleeves holding and comforting the scared, hurt little boy in his arms, there was both such a depth of softness and strength to him that was so much more than what she had previously seen.

The medic carefully pulled up Devon's t-shirt, and Mac saw her lips set as she took in the angry bruises and welts on the boy's back and ribs. "Do you have a hospital preference for him?" she asked Mac.

Mac shook his head, "Just the closest children's hospital."

Georgie nodded. "Are you going to be riding with him?"

Mac hesitated. He wanted to. How much he wanted to and why once again shook him. It wasn't just that the boy was a victim, or the only potential witness. He could easily hand Devon over to the medics and send Jo, who with kids of her own would be the "logical" choice.

But he didn't want to do that either.

He found himself trying to explain it by the fact that he had already established a level of trust with the child and that sending anyone else could reduce Devon to complete silence at best, and based on how scared the boy still was, quite probably completely re-traumatize him.

But while there was an element of truth to all the reasons he tried to convince himself with, he knew they weren't really the case. He felt a burgeoning personal attachment to the boy that quite frankly almost scared him.

Jo, seeing Mac hesitate at the medic's question and practically reading the internal dialogue she could guess was cascading through his head, she stepped forward. "Mac, go," she told him, pressing the clean change of clothes that she had finally found for Devon into his hand. Relief filled his eyes that she had made the decision for him.

"You're sure?" Mac double-checked, a twinge of guilt about being so ready to leave to leave the crime scene niggling at him as well.

"Yes," said Jo firmly, "Go. I'll call Adam to help me finish processing and I'll be over in a little bit to catch up."

Mac nodded. He looked down at Devon, "You want to go for a ride in an ambulance?" he asked him.

"It's got some pretty cool stuff in it," Georgie told the little boy.

He peered out at her for minute before nodding his head.

Mac followed the medics down the stairs as he carried Devon to the ambulance, carefully holding the boy's head firmly against his chest so the child wouldn't see his mother lying dead in the living room as they passed.

"Don?" he said, pausing in the front doorway before leaving.

Flack came over.

Mac spoke very quietly, but his voice was nothing but deadly and his eyes flashed with a potential danger that Flack had only seen on very few occasions, "I want this motherfucking bastard in custody by tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ** _WARNING: Just a language warning on this chapter. I don't gratuitously include swearing in what I write, but neither do I withhold it where it would be used in real life dialogue, and this chapter includes it._

_The only other thing is that since this entire chapter is basically the setting and things I do and see on an almost daily basis at work (I'm a medic myself), it's really hard to know if what I'm seeing in my head and that I'm SO familiar with, actually translated to paper. So please, let me know if any of it does or does not work, because I know this chap almost too well to tell :P_

_And I know this is definitely a long-ish chapter, so thank you all very much for reading it! Hope you enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

"You can ride in back with him," Georgie told Mac as they descended the stairs.

Mac nodded in appreciation. As they stepped outside and left the stifling heat of the un-airconditioned apartment building, the breeze that hit the damp ends of his hair on the back of his neck felt incredible. The still heat of the building, while not actually bothering him in the slightest, would have been bad enough without Devon clinging to him for the past twenty minutes, and his undershirt was damp through. Getting away from the apartment and being outside, Mac saw the first hints of normal body language in the four-year-old. He shifted the boy to one arm and he pointed at the ambulance as they approached it. "See?" he said, "There's the ambulance we're going to go for a ride in."

Devon actually lifted his head off Mac's shoulder for the first time and looked where Mac was indicting, his one hand which had been underneath him still resting lightly on Mac's chest. "Where are we going?" he asked.

Mac gently brushed the boy's hair away from his face. "We're going to the hospital to see a doctor," he told him.

"Have you ever been to a hospital," Georgie asked the boy looking over her shoulder as she opened the back doors to the ambulance.

Devon shook his head.

"Well the doctors there are very nice," Georgie reassured him, climbing into the back of the ambulance ahead of Mac.

Mac paused at the open back doors and pointed at the stretcher which Georgie's partner had already made up with a sheet and pillow. "You get to ride on that," he told Devon. But Devon lay his head back on Mac's shoulder, tucking his arm back underneath him. "I'll be in that seat right next to you," Mac reassured the little boy, laying his cheek on Devon's forehead and indicating the recessed seat space next to the stretcher.

Devon nodded minutely. But as Mac went to hand him up to Georgie, Devon turned and wrapped both arms around Mac's neck again and started almost crying.

"Hey, it's ok, it's ok," Mac soothed him, and taking Georgie's proffered hand, Mac pulled himself into the back, holding Devon with one arm. He sat on the long bench seat next to Georgie and rested Devon on his lap. He could practically hear his shoulders and arms heave a sigh of relief as they no longer exclusively held the boy's weight. He waited a minute for Devon to relax again. "Can you ride on the special bed for me?" he asked, gently disentangling the boy's arms from around him and turning him slightly in his lap.

"Noooo!" Devon practically wailed, turning back around and all but choking Mac again as he instantly clung back to the man who he saw as his sole place of safety.

Mac wrapped his arms back around Devon and wished more than anything else that he could take away the pain and fear that he could all but feel pulsing through the small boy.

"It's okay," Georgie told Mac, "He can just sit on your lap and I'll put the seatbelt around both of you."

Mac wordlessly thanked her with a look, and she nodded her understanding.

The fairly short ride to the children's hospital was uneventful, and Devon soon calmed back down enough to even start asking, "What's that?" questions of Georgie and let her check his blood pressure.

"It feels funny," he informed Mac.

Mac smiled down at the little boy. "I know," he said.

"You had this?" Devon asked him, looking up into Mac's face and pointing at the small blood pressure cuff that Georgie un-velcroed and put back in the monitor.

If only the kid knew, Mac thought wryly. "Lots of times," Mac informed him with another smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Upon their arrival to the hospital, Devon retained his reserved curiosity while still making sure no part of him lost contact with Mac.

"There's lots of amb'lances," he told Mac, as Mac climbed out of the back of the truck into the ambulance bay of the hospital where they had parked.

"There are, aren't there," Mac replied, hefting the boy in his arms.

Georgie punched in the key code to get into the first responders' entrance, and she and her partner led them through the ER to the room that had already been designated.

"Wow, you get your own special room right away," she told Devon with a smile.

Mac actually was impressed. NYC ERs were always crowed and overloaded, and barring someone being a really serious case, even genuine ambulance patients frequently had to wait for a room to become available. When they reached the pediatric hub, Georgie pointed out their assigned room and went to give her report to the receiving nurse.

Mac sat down with Devon in the chair that was next to the bed. The little boy sat quietly in his lap, and Mac could sense his creeping apprehension at the foreignness and overwhelmingness of the whole place. He kissed the top of the boy's head. "It's going to be okay," he whispered to him.

"Where's mommy?" Devon suddenly asked in a small voice.

"She can't come," Mac told him, tightening his arms slightly around the little boy.

"Is that because daddy hurt her?" Devon asked very quietly without looking up or moving.

Mac felt his throat catch. "Yeah, it is," he said.

Devon didn't say anything, somehow even at his very young age apparently comprehending and understanding in his own way what had happened.

"Devon, did you see your dad hurt your mom?" Mac asked him quietly.

Devon nodded.

"Did he hurt you?" Mac asked even quieter.

Devon didn't respond for several seconds clearly deciding whether he should answer. But eventually he slowly nodded again. "I made a accident," he said in an almost whispered voice. "Don't let him hurt me for saying," Devon said, looking up at Mac and tears filling his eyes again.

Sick fury filled Mac at the helpless pleading in Devon's small voice. He was only _four_. Four! He pulled the little boy to his chest again and stroked his hair. "Never," he told him, "I won't ever let him come close to you again."

There was a knock at the entrance to the room, interrupting Mac's rapidly escalating anger, and one of the ER docs came in, Georgie beside him and followed by one of the nurses.

The young medic knelt down next to Mac's knee in front of Devon. "Devon, this is Dr. Abbas," she said, indicating the doctor who stood right behind her, "He's going to take care of you now and get your leg and chest and face feeling better. Okay?"

"Where are you going?" Devon asked.

"I got to go take care of other people who are sick and need to come to the hospital."

"In the amb'lance?"

"In the ambulance," Georgie told him. Devon nodded, and Georgie stood up. "Is there anything else you need from me?" she asked Mac.

"Just both of your full names," he replied, indicating her partner who was standing just outside the room, "And medic numbers."

Georgie took a small notepad out of her pocket and wrote down the information. She tore out the sheet and handed it to Mac. "I also put down our station and a contact number if you need it," she told him.

"Thank you," Mac said gratefully, folding it in half with one hand and slipping it into his pocket.

Georgie, catching that his 'thank you' was for more than the information he just had requested, nodded in reply with a smile, and left the room.

Dr. Abbas knelt down in spot Georgie had just vacated. "Hey, Devon," he greeted the little boy with a smile, "How are you?"

Devon just stared at him from around the safety of Mac's arm.

The doctor, having gotten a very complete report from Georgie, let the boy stay in Mac's lap while he did his assessment. Devon, in return, was amazingly cooperative, not even raising a fuss when the nurse gently took off his t-shirt. Mac however, felt almost physically ill as he saw for the first time the angry bruising and multiple buckle marks that looped around the boy's torso. It was very hard for such young children to suffer actual broken ribs since at that point they were still mostly cartilage, but Mac wouldn't have been surprised if the boy had a couple hairline fractures. But when the nurse went to take off Devon's shorts, the boy suddenly went into full panic mode, desperately crying and clinging to Mac and refusing to let anyone else near him. And he was unable to be calmed down, his crying getting increasingly panicked whenever Dr. Abbas, the nurse or the tech tried to touch him.

"I hate to do this," Dr. Abbas said eventually, Devon's raw panic almost palpable by that time, "But we're going to have to sedate him; 1mg of Valium, IM," he told the nurse. The two ER techs who were now in the room for assistance, practically pried Devon off Mac. Devon's cries rose to panicked screams, and Mac felt as if his heart would break in two as Devon continued to desperately reach for him. Dr. Abbas took him by the arm and led him out of the room.

"You all right?" the doctor asked, looking at him keeningly.

Mac let out a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. He nodded, trying to pull his focus back together.

"You have kids?" the doctor asked almost as a statement.

"No, no I don't," Mac replied.

A look of surprise crossed Dr. Abbas' face. By the boy's obvious attachment to the detective, along with the understanding and affect the man clearly had for the child, Dr. Abbas had taken it for granted that Mac had kids of his own. He guided the detective over to the nurses' station as Mac continued to look over his shoulder towards the closed and curtained room where Devon was still screaming. "Detective Taylor?" Dr. Abbas said.

"Yeah," said Mac, resolutely drawing a wall in front of what was going on behind him.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that even taking into account the abuse that we can see and know happened, Devon's reaction just now is not normal."

Mac nodded.

"You know there are two reasons why I ordered him to be sedated," Dr. Abbas continued.

Mac nodded again, his stomach twisting and his brain refusing to want to think about the likely reason for Devon's reaction, even though he already knew.

"We're going to need to do a full work-up," Dr. Abbas continued, "Including a rape kit," he finished quietly.

Mac took a couple steadying breaths and closed his eyes, actually hearing the words out loud changing the desire he already had to beat the living shit out of Jason Matthews to an almost murderous one.

"It's going to be a little bit before we get all that done and x-rays though," Dr. Abbas said, "Do you want to wait back here or out front?"

Behind Mac, Devon's screaming slowly became quieter as the medication finally took effect. "I'll wait out front," Mac said, wanting the option for a bit of space and to call Flack and Jo and get an update from one or both of them.

Dr. Abbas nodded. "We'll send someone out to get you if we need you," he said, "And feel free to come on back here as well whenever you want."

"Thank you," Mac said, truly grateful for the ER doctor's understanding.

"No problem," Dr. Abbas smiled, and headed down the hall to attend to another patient.

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Finally given an opportunity to start to think beyond the immediate moment, as he made his way out to the waiting room, Mac's thoughts started flying towards what was going to become of Devon next. He assumed Flack had already contacted CPS and gotten the whole process started. But barring the boy having truly decent relatives who were willing to take him in, the prospects for his future were bleak indeed. It was so unfair. He was only four, and not only had he already been put through far more than most adults, but his odds of experiencing much in his childhood beyond emotional indifference at best, made Mac's heart ache at the thought. And entirely unbidden, the vague emotions he had felt towards Devon materialized into the strongest desire to _do_ something, do whatever it took to prevent the future that he had seen take place for far too many kids happen to Devon. He _couldn't_ let it happen to Devon. But the practical implications of what the extent to which his intent and unexpected emotional attachment to the boy would entail, shook him and left him almost terrified. As much as he might now regret a lost opportunity, there was a very real reason he'd been hesitant to have kids. But his current feelings had taken on a life of their own, and try as he might to dismiss or intellectualize them away, they refused to budge.

He sat down heavily in a chair by the front ER doors and methodically set about ordering his run-away thoughts and focusing on the actual case. He knew anything Devon said about what happened beyond corroborating the abuse that had taken place, would be automatically looked on with great skepticism due to his age. Not to mention that he probably wouldn't be able to say exactly what happened to begin with. Mac had no doubt that they could get a conviction for murder and 1st degree child abuse, but unless they got a confession out of their suspect, the exact order and specific motive for the events that had unfolded that afternoon was going to be virtually impossible to discern. And he wanted more than a conviction. He wanted to _know_. _Know_ what Devon could have possibly done to "earn" getting burned multiple times with a cigarette, beaten with a belt, and god knows what else. _Know_ why the boy's mother ended up with her skull bashed in, and Devon left hiding in a terrified little ball in the back of his closet. And he prayed that it was some other sort of trauma other than what his gut-wrenching fear and experience told him had reduced Devon to his panicked screams in the ER room.

Mac pulled out his phone and dialed Flack.

"_Detective Flack,"_ Don answered.

"Doesn't my name come up on your caller ID?" asked Mac, "And you still answer like that?"

"_Hey, you just say, 'Taylor' all half-gruff like, even if _I_ call you_," Don replied, _"At least I add 'Detective'."_

Mac felt a glimmer of a smile pull at his lips.

"_So how's he doing?"_ Flack asked, referencing Devon.

Mac let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "He's in pretty rough shape," he admitted, "I think the adrenaline from being in pure survival mode was what was countering most his pain, because he took quite the beating." Mac paused before forcing himself to say the next part. "And it's quite probable he was sexually abused as well," he finished, the sick feeling from before wrapping itself around his stomach again.

"_Ah shit,"_ said Flack quietly. _"Well, we got the murder weapon,"_ he informed Mac, _"Found it in a dumpster the next block over. Triangular glass paperweight with blood all over it. No word yet on where Jason Matthews is. I'm tracking down his work place, see what more info we can get from his boss and co-workers as I've run into a dead end trying to contact any of his relatives. His mom and brother who live nearby, literally slammed the door in my face, and I couldn't track down anybody else."_

"Real upstanding family," Mac muttered.

"_Tell me about it,"_ Flack replied. _"And Jo texted me right before you called that she and Adam were pretty much finished processing and she's sending the evidence back to the lab with him, so we should both be over at the hospital in about 30 minutes or so."_

"Sounds great," said Mac, "I'll you see then." He slid his phone back in his pocket, and leaned back in his chair, his own adrenaline slowly subsiding.

A couple of the people closer to Mac snuck sideways glances at him as they realized he was wearing a gun and badge, but most just walked and looked right past him, assuming he was one of the multitude of friends and family and potential patients waiting the interminable wait of a busy hospital ER. New patients kept walking in, getting dropped off and being wheeled in, and Mac only paid them half a mind, his thoughts far away from the constant stream of people coming and going. A couple drunks staggered in, and after both having to be told sternly by the triage nurse that they couldn't just walk back and pick out a bed, curled up in chairs, one of them intermittently bursting out into Ozzy Osbourne songs. It was all nothing Mac hadn't seen a thousand times before. His thoughts drifted back to the little boy behind the set of double doors that were beyond the triage station, and he hoped that Devon was in that blissful state of semi-oblivion that drugs induced.

But suddenly, shouts grabbed his attention and he looked up. A man who looked to be in his mid to late thirties was standing at the triage desk and yelling at the nurse behind it.

"I want my son!" he shouted at her in a slurred voice. "I WANT, MY GODDAMN…FUCKING…_SON_!"

The triage nurse was unphased by the man, but was clearly cognizant that this particular drunk represented a potential actual threat. Mac sat forward on his chair, an almost certain suspicion springing to mind, and he felt the beginning tendrils of anger snake through him as he also prepared for the verbal confrontation to turn violent.

"Sir!" the nurse said firmly as a couple of the hospital security personal gathered against the far wall, in preparation of any necessary action, "Sir, you need to calm down."

"Don't you fucking tell me to 'calm down'," the man yelled back loudly. He leaned across the desk, "Now, you need to take me back there so I get my son out of here away from you people and leave!"

"Sir," the nurse interjected as the security personal took a couple steps forward and Mac stood up, "How do you know your son is even here? And if he is, I'm sure he needs to be."

The man leaned even further across the desk, his face practically red with rage, "Don't you fucking tell me what my son 'needs'. And I know because some goddamn _cop_," he all but spat out the word, "Took him here!"

Mac was all but convinced that it the man was Jason Matthews, and the anger that had begun, took full hold.

The two security guards stepped forward and one of them lay a hand firmly on the man's shoulder. "Sir, you need to back up," he said coldly.

"Fuck you," the man said.

"How do you know your son was taken here?" the nurse asked, "What's his name?"

"Because _someone_ had the goddamn decency to tell me when my son was taken out of my home against my will!" the man all but exploded, "And his goddamn name is Devon!"

All conscious decision making left Mac as nothing but rage and fury boiled through him at the confirmation of who the man was. Almost physically shaking, Mac crossed in four long strides to the triage desk and shoved Jason Matthews backwards away from the nurse and the desk, waving off the two security guards. "_What_ did you say your son's name was?" Mac asked, red-hot anger fairly radiating off him, and his eyes flashing beyond dangerously.

The nurse behind the desk suddenly found her concern for the safety of the newcomer utterly vanish, and actually shift towards the subject of the police officer's wrath.

"What the fuck?" Jason swore at Mac's sudden appearance. He took in Mac's badge and gun, and whether he simply didn't care, or whether he made correct assumption that Mac was the cop who had brought Devon to the hospital, took a swing at Mac.

Adrenaline poured through Mac as he seized the opportunity to wreak his anger on the man who had inflicted the torture on little boy Mac had coaxed from the back of that closet. Unaware of anything else around him, complete instinct took over as he twisted out of the way of Jason's drunken, clumsy punch, buckling his opponent's leg with a quick strike to the inside of the man's knee. Mac landed blow after blow in a series of strikes that consecutively almost paralyzed Jason's diaphragm with a blow to his solar plexus, broke his nose, and ended with Mac having him in an inescapable choke hold. He could have easily chosen to make it a blood choke, thereby rendering Jason unconscious in a matter of seconds, but he chose instead to make a tracheal choke, almost relishing the man fighting to take a breath past his windpipe that Mac's forearm was crushing. He could feel Jason slowly losing strength as he became increasingly oxygen deprived.

Suddenly arms were grabbing him around his shoulders and pulling him backwards, away from Jason.

"Mac! MAC!" a voice yelled in his ear as he and whoever it was fell backwards to floor. His first instinct was to fight the man who had pulled him away, but the familiar voice snapped everything around him back into awareness and even though his muscles remained tensed, he bit back his near-automatic response.

"Mac!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _I know this chapter is shorter than what I typically write, but it came to a natural stop and if I'd continued I had no idea where it was going end. Plus it felt like a bit of a breather in the middle of rather heavy content. So, hope you guys don't mind too much and I'll do my best to get the next update out as soon as possible! Thanks so much for reading and for everyone who has reviewed, especially my "regulars"! Enjoy :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

As he was hauled backwards, Mac took a shuddering breath and forced his body to relax slightly, suppressing the instantaneous twitch of his muscles to react as he realized it was Flack who had him around his shoulders and had pulled him off Jason Matthews.

Flack in turn loosened his arms from around Mac and released his friend, placing his hand on Mac's chest and slowly backing him to the wall by the door while Jo placed handcuffs on Matthews and led him away to get medically evaluated before he would be brought to jail.

"Jesus, Mac, it looked like you were going to kill him," Flack said in a low voice, "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Coming down, but still high on adrenaline, Mac almost laughed at Flack's last statement. "I somehow don't think you have too much to worry about," he told his friend dryly.

"I dunno," Flack said, "I thought for a minute you were actually going to fight me."

Mac nodded as he leaned his back against the wall and took several deep breaths. It had been a very long time since he had lost his control to the extent he just had, and it was the knowledge that his capacity to lose it was always just beneath the surface that made him so cognizant of maintaining at least an outward grip of his emotions. He had gotten into a lot of trouble when he was younger before he learned the art of silent anger and how to channel his temper and hot sense of injustice.

"You're bleeding," Flack added, with motion to his lip.

Mac raised the back of his hand to his mouth. Somehow Matthews had managed to land an elbow at some point during their fight, splitting his lip open, and Mac had been completely oblivious to it until now. "I'm fine," he said. But as he dropped his hand, blood immediately started making its down his chin again and onto his shirt.

"Yeah, right," Flack said sarcastically. "You're going to need at least a stitch in that. Come on."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took two stitches to close the cut on his lip, and soon Mac found himself sitting back in Devon's room waiting for Flack to return from the waiting room where he was taking a phone call, and for the boy to get back from X-RAY. Finally Flack came in and sat down heavily in the chair next to Mac. He let out a deep breath and Mac knew it had to do with the conversation he had just finished.

"So catch me up," Mac said after Flack didn't say anything immediately.

"That was CPS getting back to me," Flack said. "As far as relatives go…clearly his grandmother I 'spoke' to is out, as is his aunt on his father's side who already has five kids with four different guys, is an alcoholic and subsequently is dealing with current CPS issues of her own. His maternal relatives are all in Wisconsin and want nothing to do with him as I guess Aubrea Matthews was all but disowned by them when she 'ran away' to the city here."

Mac leaned his forearms on his knees as his worst fears for Devon's future came true. "So he's going to be lost to system," he said quietly. _And end up god knows where_, he thought. It would be hard enough for the boy to recover emotionally under the care of loving relatives from everything he'd gone through, let alone the impossibility of it ever happening while being shuffled from one foster home to another.

"Yep," replied Flack.

The two lapsed into silence as the weariness of witnessing yet another tragic and hopeless scenario crashed across them. One got used to and immune to the impact of the ceaselessness of such things to a point. It was out of pure survival. But it was only to a point. And that was the flip side to the whole equation: one also had to retain a guarded, small hole that could be gotten into in order to preserve a sense of humanity and sympathy and actual caring, and there was no anticipating or predicting when that allowed chink in the armor would let something all the way through instead of only part of the way. This was definitely one of those cases.

"I can't, Don," Mac said finally, not looking up and still speaking very quietly.

"Can't what?" Flack asked, looking over his friend.

"I can't see his life be wasted in front of me."

Flack didn't reply. He could have thrown back that statistically speaking Devon wasn't necessarily doomed. The boy could end up for years with the same foster parents who truly cared for him. Or given how young he was, he could be one of the ones who simply defied the odds of a difficult childhood. But in reality, either situation rarely happened, and both detectives knew it.

"What are you going to do?" Flack asked.

Leaving his elbows on his knees, Mac dropped his head and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck. "I don't know," he said. But the truth was, he _did_ know the only real thing he could and had do to ensure even the boy's temporary future, and the prospect next to terrified him.

A knock at the door yanked him out of his thoughts. It was Jo.

"You did a number on him, Mac," she told him in a rather impressed but dry, unsurprised voice and referencing Matthews. "Partially dislocated kneecap, dislocated jaw, broken nose, possible fractured cheekbone and a bruised trachea. And the security guard I interviewed said it didn't even take you 30 seconds to do all of it and get him in that hold after he swung at you?" Jo had seen brief glimpses into what Mac was capable of when a suspect was stupid enough to resist an arrest, and the pictures and military displays he had in his office pointed to a man who clearly knew more than how to hold his own. But it was another thing to see a supposition take on reality. She looked at Mac with a new level of respect, and somehow knew that despite the damage he had inflicted on Matthews and that Flack had had to drag him off the man, Mac had still held back from what he was fully capable of.

Mac didn't say anything. There really wasn't anything to be said. He just looked at Jo with a certain level of chagrin.

"He's trying to cry foul, you know," Jo said pulling a chair from the hallway into the room and sitting down, "Well, _trying_ being the operative word there since his jaw isn't really working so well at the moment. Of course between the security guard witnessing that Matthews threatened the nurse before trying to hit you, let alone the fact that he at least abused his son if not killed his wife, his saying he wants your head isn't going anywhere." Jo looked at Mac searchingly. There was something else in his face that hadn't been there when he'd left the apartment. "Mac, what is it?" she asked him.

Mac and Don exchanged a glance. "Devon was probably raped." Mac forced himself to say the actual words.

A look of shock, disgust, and heartache stamped itself on Jo's face.

Mac leaned back in his chair and let out a deep breath. "I don't think it was a pattern though. He completely flipped when the nurse went to take off his shorts, and I've mostly seen the kids who experience it on a regular basis just go almost catatonic. They've learned to simply zone out so as not to make it worse." Even though there was complete truth to what he just said, Mac also knew he was trying to convince himself that Devon hadn't been subjected to that level of horror.

Jo nodded. "Where is he?" she asked.

"Getting x-rays," Mac replied.

The three sat in silence, the completely unexpected turn that the seemingly straight-forward case had taken, finally able to fully sink in. The morning in the lab measuring out solutions with a micropipette seemed almost a world away, and the irony of everything hit Mac. He gave a short laugh.

"What?" Jo asked.

"See what I get for going out with you?" Mac replied with a wry smile.

And with that, the impossibly heavy mood lightened.

"Well, I'm going to head back to the lab and catch up with Adam," Jo said after a brief minute and smiling at Mac. "I'll give you a call in a little bit, let you know what's what."

Mac nodded his appreciation. "You headed out too?" he asked Flack.

"Nah," Flack replied, "I'm going to stick around until they finish with Matthews and then take him back for questioning."

"You don't have to," Mac told him, "It's going to be a while."

"I know," Flack said simply without moving an inch.

Mac felt a rush of appreciation for his friend. He knew the real reason Don was staying at the ER with him wasn't to wait to take Jason Matthews to interrogation or to Rikers as soon as he was discharged, but for when the Devon's doctor was going to come back and let Mac know about the boy. "Thank you," he said, infusing those two words with a sentiment that let Flack knew he knew.

Don smiled at him and stood up. "I'm going to go get us both coffee," he said, "And don't give me that crap about you quitting. Not only do we both know that was a complete fib, but you need at least a couple cups and you know it."

Mac laughed, and couldn't argue the point.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

About half an hour later, one of the radiology techs wheeled Devon back into the room. He was still half knocked out from the medication, his eyes droopy and mostly closed, and one arm draped around a stuffed animal he had been given. He had an IV in his other hand and he looked so small in his animal print hospital gown and lying in the middle of the full-size wheeled bed, Mac thought. But he finally looked peaceful too. The tech locked the wheels of the bed, double-checked that the IV was still running, and with a nod and a smile to the two detectives, left the room.

Mac stood up and walked over to Devon's bed, leaning his forearms on the rail. He reached down and brushed the boy's hair off his forehead and pulled the blanket up. Devon opened his eyes at Mac's touch, but he just let out a little sigh before his eyelids drifted back closed. Mac let his hand rest for a moment longer on Devon's head and was grateful that at least for now the little boy was in a world of no stress and no pain and oblivious to what his future held. Not that it wasn't going to be an improvement on the situation he had been pulled from, but it was still hardly one filled with hope.

"Don?" Mac asked quietly without moving or turning around.

"Yeah?" his friend replied.

"Did CPS give you a timeline on when they'd have someone to take guardianship?"

"Actual guardianship or just the immediate temporary placement?" Flack asked.

"Either."

"Well if necessary, the woman I talked to said they could have him placed this evening if he got discharged, and then they'd continue looking for a place where he could hopefully stay for much more permanent length of time," Flack replied, slightly puzzled and a little curious knowing that Mac knew very well how the system worked. Mac nodded before standing back up and returning to his seat. He didn't elaborate on the meaning behind his question and Don opted not to press the subject.

The ER doctor who had originally seen Devon, entered a few minutes later.

"Detective Taylor," he greeted Mac, and sent a friendly but somewhat inquisitive look in Flack's direction.

"Detective Flack," Don introduced himself.

"Dr. Abbas," the doctor said, shaking Flack's hand with a smile. He drew up the wheeled stool and sat on it, opening Devon's chart which he had in his hand. "Well, I have good news. Relatively obviously," he added with a slight grimace. "There's no sign of sexual abuse."

Mac heaved an almost audible sigh of relief as the weight that had been sitting on his chest disappeared.

"However," Dr. Abbas continued, "We did find out the reason why he went into such a high level of anxiety and panic."

Mac felt his stomach sink again.

"Those cigarette burns on his upper legs? There's scarring of older ones as well as three more new ones mostly on his lower pelvic region and no higher than the waistline of his pants. They're not visible for when he went to daycare or preschool, and I'm guessing on just how localized they are that the burns were used as a 'punishment' for some specific offense."

Mac felt ill. No wonder the boy had broken down into panicked screams. He remembered Devon telling him he had had "a accident" that prompted the assault that afternoon, and given the boy's age, Mac could place an educated guess as what that specific offense could have been. His anger at Jason Matthews crept back. He wondered too how and where the murder of Devon's mother fit into all this. Had she tried to stand up for he son and ended up paying the ultimate price? Although technically until the evidence was analyzed and tied Jason Matthews to the murder, they couldn't definitively say he had even done it. Especially given his brazen appearance at the ER which Mac would have thought he'd have avoided if Matthews had indeed killed his wife. But given his level of inebriation, he might not even have realized that he had done more than knock his wife out and certainly didn't think about the potential consequences of showing up at the ER when he already knew it was the police who had taken his son there.

"No broken ribs," Dr. Abbas continued, "But they're severely bruised, and there's evidence he has had a couple hairline fractures in the past in his left arm and two of his ribs."

"He said he'd never been to hospital before," Mac put in.

Dr. Abbas shrugged. "To be honest I'm not surprised. If they weren't obvious deformities I'm sure his parents would be more than happy to avoid awkward questions."

And Mac knew it was true. Even if Devon's mother hadn't been directly involved in the abuse (and Mac really doubted she had been given that she was clearly also a victim of domestic violence), she would have also had to face questions regarding not only her son's but her own injuries as well.

"He's also rather dehydrated," Dr. Abbas said, "So with everything, we're going to admit him at least overnight."

Mac nodded. He would have been shocked if Devon hadn't been admitted. It also bought him time to figure out what he was going to do with regards to the boy's future.

"We haven't properly dressed any of the new burns yet as I figured you guys still needed to take pictures," Dr. Abbas said.

Mac felt very grateful for the doctor's intrinsic understanding of the situation and easy familiarity with the process.

"Do either of you have any questions for me?" Dr. Abbas finished, looking between the two detectives.

Mac and Don exchanged a brief glance before Mac shook his head. "Not right now," he said, "Thank you for everything."

"Not at all," Dr. Abbas replied with a smile as all three stood and he shook both detectives' hands. "Just let the nurse know when you're done. There should be a room available upstairs for the little guy in a couple hours."

"I'm going to go to see how Matthews is doing," Flack said as the ER doctor left the room.

"Hey?" Mac said, stopping Flack as his friend reached the doorway.

"Yeah?" Flack replied, turning and looking at Mac with that understanding quietness that he had.

"Thanks," Mac said simply.

Flack nodded with an acknowledging, small smile and disappeared down the hallway.

Mac opened his case, which Jo had brought with her from the crime scene, and took out his camera. He crossed to the side of Devon's bed and looked at the sleeping boy for a minute before lowering the rail and kneeling down so he was at Devon's eye level. He couldn't deny the niggle of affection he felt for the boy and which now sat as a quiet, small warm ball in the middle of his chest. He hadn't felt the warmth in a long time, and never anything exactly like it. For the moment he gave up fighting and questioning it and let it just sit there in the background like a quiet glow as a level of calm professional objectivity took over as he slipped into the role of investigator which at this point was as natural to him as breathing.

He stroked the boy's hair to wake him up, "Devon. Devon?"

Devon slowly opened his eyes. They were still half-distant and a bit bleary as the sedative continued to wear off, but Mac could see recognition in them as they found his face.

"Hey," Mac said gently, "You feeling a bit better?"

"I'm tired," Devon said in a small voice, his arm still wrapped around his new teddy bear.

"I bet," Mac told him with an understanding and soft smile. He set his camera on the edge of the bed. "I got to take some pictures of you though, is that ok?"

Devon looked at him for moment before nodding.

"It won't take long," Mac promised, "And then you can get back to sleep.

Mac was extremely glad for the emotionally protective mantle his job gave him and that he had developed over the years that allowed him to compartmentalize. With the adrenaline of the whole initial scene over, he had regained his usual near-iron clad level of control and it served him extremely well as he took careful and thorough record of all the injuries new and old that Devon had suffered. Mac pressed his lips tight together as he properly saw for the first time the full extent of the abuse. It didn't matter how long he'd been at his job or how much he saw, he'd never understand how a person could exact such cruelty on not just another human being, but one who was so utterly defenseless and innocent.

It took Mac only little over five minutes to finish, pulling back the blanket and Devon's small hospital gown a section at a time and only ever far enough to get the particular picture that he needed. Devon didn't offer the slightest protest, not even when Mac gently rolled him over so he could photograph his back. When he was finished, he set his camera at the end of the bed and pulled the blanket all the way back up, tucking Devon in and replacing the teddy bear under the little boy's arm. As Devon started to drift off almost immediately, Mac finished packing up his case and went to find Flack. But a small voice stopped him as he reached the door.

"Where are you going?"

Mac turned. Devon had heard him slide the door open and was now looking after him with big, brown eyes and hugging his teddy bear very tightly at the prospect of Mac leaving. Mac hesitated, unsure exactly what to say. There was only so much a four-year-old could comprehend, and Mac was fairly certain that evidence processing was not on the list. Besides, as much of an absolute bastard that Jason Matthews was, he was still the kid's father with as yet no physical evidence against him regarding the murder of the boy's mother. He couldn't exactly say, "Sorry kid, I gotta go for the moment to see if everything proves your father murdered your mom."

He walked back over to Devon's bedside and knelt down. The look of apprehension and fear in Devon's eyes at the prospect of being left by himself (relatively speaking) pulled at Mac's heart. He spoke quietly, his eyes never leaving Devon's. "You know how you told me your dad hurt you?"

The little boy nodded minutely, still clearly scared of his own earlier admission.

"I'm going to go make 357% certain that he'll never get to do that again." Where Mac got that number he didn't know, but just saying '100%' to a four-year-old just didn't seem adequate, especially since he distinctly remembered his own heightened level of faith and conviction in exaggerated numbers when he was little.

Devon stared at him, obviously trying to decide whether or not to believe Mac or write it all off as just another empty promise and excuse for Mac to let him down like probably every other adult in his short life had.

"Are you going to come back?"

The instinctive sad disbelief in the boy's voice was heartbreaking. "Yes," Mac replied with simple convinction, never once taking his eyes off Devon's as the boy searched his face.

"You promise?" The boy's voice wobbled and had an almost despairing edge to it.

Mac smiled at him, "I promise," he said.

Devon paused for a few moments before nodding, some of the fear leaving his small face.

Mac smoothed the boy's hair. "Now, you get some sleep, and I'll be back in a little bit."

"Ok," Devon almost whispered, his eyes starting to droop again under Mac's gentle and reassuring touch.

Mac waited until the boy's eyes completely closed and his breathing grew slow as he slept. He pushed himself back up and quietly left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Flack was standing outside Jason Matthews room, leaning against the wall and smiling with satisfaction as yells and protests could be clearly heard even through the closed door. "What's going on?" Mac asked his fellow detective.

"They're setting his nose and jaw," Flack replied with satisfaction, "And I don't think they waited for the pain meds to fully kick in."

The two of them looked towards the closed door for a moment.

"For having a dislocated jaw and bruised trachea he's certainly making a lot of noise," Flack observed.

"It's probably more that he doesn't want to follow their directions and lie still and cooperate," Mac said wryly.

Flack snorted, "Yeah, that I don't doubt!" He looked over at Mac, "You headed back to the lab?" he asked.

Mac nodded, "I have to see where we stand on this whole case at the moment, see if we have anything that ties Matthews to the murder of his wife beyond a supposition and history of domestic violence." He lifted his one hand in which his now blood stained button shirt was screwed into a ball, "And change my shirt," he added dryly. "Oh, by the way, do you have the number for the CPS person who you've been in contact with?"

"Yeah," said Flack, fishing out his phone and looking it up.

Mac scrawled the number on the back of the slip of paper the medic had given him earlier.

"Going to let her know the kid's going to be here overnight?" Flack asked.

"Yes," Mac replied, not breathing a hint about the absolutely insane idea that had pushed itself into his head and was now refusing to leave.

"Hey, you want me to give you a ride back?" Flack asked, "I'm actually going to be headed back to the precinct here in a couple minutes and I can drop you off on the way."

"Sure," Mac replied, "I take it Matthews is going to be here a little while?"

"His blood alcohol level is 0.23," Flack said.

Mac was both mildly impressed and not surprised. No wonder their suspect hadn't had the sense not to show up at the ER. "Yeah, he's going to take a bit to sober up enough to take to in-processing and questioning," he said.

The two of them stood there listening to the obscenities and yells that continued to make their way through the closed and didn't even remotely decrease in volume, if anything only getting louder and more pronounced. Finally Mac shook his head with a smile. "You parked over by the ambulance bay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Flack replied.

"Alright. I'm going to go drop my stuff off. Meet you out there in a few minutes."

"You got it," Flack told him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **_Just you all know, this is not the last chapter. There is one more coming after this. Thank you all tons for reading!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

After letting Jo know he was back and very briefly updating her on how things currently stood at the hospital in regards to both Devon and Jason Matthews, Mac headed to the locker rooms before convening the team in the conference room. Being now later in the evening and after shift change, it was quiet and empty. Mac looked briefly at the shirt in his hand before simply throwing it in the trash. It wasn't as if he didn't have plenty more. He pulled his dark undershirt over his head as, even though it wasn't visible, he could tell some of the blood from his shirt had soaked through. Any last dregs of adrenaline completely gone from his system, his headache was back, and now that the lidocaine from getting stitches was worn off, his lip definitely stung and he could tell it was still somewhat swollen. He shivered slightly as the air conditioner for the building cycled on and blew from the vent that was above his locker directly down his bare back.

He grabbed a clean undershirt from the top shelf of his locker and fished out the bottle of Excedrin which he kept up there as well. Slipping the t-shirt on, he dumped out two of the small, white tablets into his hand and headed over to the sinks to get some water. Swallowing both pills at once and fervently hoping they kicked in sooner rather than later, he headed back to his locker and sat down on the bench that was in front of it. He pulled out the piece of paper that had the phone number for the CPS contact person out of his pocket and slowly unfolded it. He stared at it for several long seconds, the slip of paper in one hand and his phone in the other. His heart pounded. What the hell was he doing? What was he even thinking? It was insane, ludicrous. But he had racked his brain trying to come up with any other certain options and there were none. Besides, there was no guarantee it was all going to go through anyway. He took a deep breath and dialed the number.

"…Yeah…okay…Thank you." Mac pushed 'end call' on his screen, his head spinning in disbelief of what was happening. He hit one of his speed-dial numbers and waited for a few seconds while the phone on the other end rang three times before it was picked up.

"_Detective Flack."_

"Again?" Mac asked.

"_Hey, I got a reputation to maintain here,"_ Flack protested.

Mac smiled at the barely concealed humor in his friend's voice. "I need you to do something for me, Don," he said.

"_Sure, what's up?"_

Mac explained.

If Don was thrown by what Mac told him, he kept any trace of it out of his voice.

"_You got it, Mac. I'll see if I can get in touch with a judge I know right away."_

"Thanks."

"_Hey, no problem. I'll call you in a little bit. Oh, guess what?"_

"What?" Mac replied.

"_They're admitting the kid's father overnight as well."_

"What? Why?" Mac asked rather incredulously.

"_Apparently he tried to head-butt one of the docs, but simply bashed into the siderail of his bed instead and gave himself a concussion."_

Mac snorted with laughter. "Why am I not surprised," he said, "Alright, I'll catch up with you later, Don."

"_Sure thing,"_ his friend replied.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac entered the conference room after everyone else was already assembled. He walked through the door in a hurry, ignoring on the murmur of curiosity that circled the table at his stitched lip and different shirt and plunged straight into business in a way that clearly indicated he didn't want to field any questions. Jo eyed him thoughtfully. Something else was up too. He had that overly obvious 'everything's fine and normal' look and demeanor to him. The one that always meant the opposite. She shot him a sideways, knowing look; but if he caught it, he gave no indication that he had. He leaned his hands on the back of the chair at the head of the table and tried to stave of Adam's almost desperate curiosity that was presenting itself by him half-raising his hand every few seconds and opening his mouth to ask Mac what had happened.

"I know it's late, so we'll get through this really quick and then you guys can get going," Mac said, pointedly ignoring Adam, "Sid, start us off."

Sid's curiosity about what had happened to Mac wasn't much better hidden than Adam's, but he clipped his glasses on and opened the thin folder that was sitting in front of him. "I don't have the full autopsy report yet on Aubrea Matthews," he started, "But I can preliminarily tell you that she died from blunt force trauma that caused an open skull fracture and massive bleeding on her brain. She also suffered a fractured orbit as well as multiple contusions…Mac," he tried.

But Mac cut him off, "Jo?"

A most disappointed look spread across Sid (and Adam's) face.

Jo cleared her throat, shooting Mac another look. "Mac, put the poor things out of their misery," she told him slightly reproachfully as she looked between the agonized faces of Adam and Sid.

Mac sighed and relented. He knew he'd have to give his own update before the end of the meeting, but for some reason he wanted to put off doing so as long as possible and he wasn't sure exactly why. No, that wasn't true, he thought. He knew exactly why he was avoiding the subject: it was the conflicting thrill of exhilaration and fear at the remembrance of his loss of control with Matthews. But he realized no else need know anything but the bare facts, and he knew Jo was right. "We have Jason Matthews in custody," he informed the small group around the table.

"Good!" Adam hissed fiercely.

"And…" Sid prompted Mac when he didn't immediately continue.

"He showed up drunk at the ER trying to get his kid," Mac said.

A small smile played at the corners of Sid's mouth as he knew exactly where Mac's story was going.

"Matthews decided to take issue with the fact that the hospital staff wouldn't release his son to him and that we had brought the kid there in the first place and thought he'd stand a better chance of getting his son back if he started a fight."

"With you?" Adam said, his eyes getting big, "How drunk and stupid was this guy?"

Mac smiled in quiet amusement at Adam's reaction to Matthews picking a fight with him. "Anyway," he continued, "Let's just say Matthews is still at the ER…"

Sid broke into a broad smile.

"…and is going to get assault charges added to the list. Where are we on determining if Matthews is our guy for murder and not just the first-degree abuse he's going to get convicted of as it currently stands?" Mac finished.

"Well there were no signs of a break-in," Jo said, picking up where Mac had left off before relating his side of the afternoon, "No foreign prints, shoe tracks…nothing to indicate anyone else had been in that apartment." She gestured towards the one person in the room who hadn't said anything yet, "Heather?"

The young woman cleared her throat nervously before speaking. She was a newer lab criminalist and it was the first case she'd been assigned to that had had the _boss_ of the whole place involved as well, and Mac might be a bit oblivious of the shadow and impression he cast, but it was very long and very much looked up to. "I processed the paperweight that was recovered from the dumpster and the only fingerprints on it were Matthews' and a couple smudged ones underneath his." She pulled up a series of photos of the pyramid shaped paperweight, "There were also semi-voids in the blood on it where his fingers had gripped it."

"So basically we're all but certain it was Jason Matthews who bludgeoned his wife," Mac double-checked.

Jo nodded. "Heather's still going over some of the trace and a couple biologicals that we got off the vics clothes, but so far we haven't found any indication there was anyone besides Jason Matthews in that apartment today. You think it was just another fight and he simply didn't know what he'd done given how intoxicated he was?" Jo asked.

Adam raised one finger, "Not necessarily," he cut in. "I was going back through their phone records and look what I found from yesterday." He slid a piece of paper over to Mac who picked it up and looked at the highlighted entry.

"A call to a crisis center?" he asked, looking back at Adam.

"Yep," Adam said, twirling his pen between his fingers, "And I managed to get a hold of the person who took Aubrea Matthews' call. She didn't say much apparently, but wanted to know if she could show up at the center at any time and what would happen if her husband tracked her down there and showed up. The call lasted less than 3 minutes before she abruptly hung up."

"You're thinking there's a connection between her call yesterday and her murder?" Jo queried.

"Maybe," Adam said, "Maybe he didn't find out about it until today."

Mac chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Possibly," he conceded, "But any explanation of motive that involves only Matthews and his wife is leaving out part of the equation."

"Devon," Jo said.

Mac nodded, "Exactly. He was clearly a victim too at some point today and my guess is not long before his mother. So how and why did he end up in the back of that closet?"

"Maybe he was beaten earlier in the day and he simply went there to hide when his father lost it later in the afternoon?" Adam hazarded.

"I suppose," Mac said reluctantly, "But he was genuinely terrified his father was going to kill him. Not metaphorically speaking. He was absolutely convinced his father would _kill_ him, and from talking to him, I don't think he saw the actual murder."

"So if he had been beaten earlier, why that specific fear about himself when we found him? And if Devon was original target," Jo said slowly, "Then how did he 'escape' and his mother wind up dead?"

"Exactly," Mac said. "Heather, unless you find something else on our vics clothes, it looks like the evidence has Matthews nailed, but," his eyes burned fiercely, "I want motive." He gestured behind him to the oversize monitor where pictures of the crime scene and the ones he'd taken of Devon were displayed, "There's no excuse for this."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the rest of the team filed out, Mac halted Jo with a look. He closed the conference room door behind Adam. Jo watched him quietly, waiting for him to broach whatever it was that had clearly been on his mind since he had first hurriedly crossed paths with her after getting back from the ER. Mac left his hand on the door handle and spoke, only turning around as he finished his sentence.

"I told CPS I wanted at least initial guardianship of Devon."

Jo stared at him for a second as he turned to look at her. She was both shocked and not surprised all at the same time. From the look in his eyes and how Mac had responded with such understanding tenderness to the little boy, Jo had recognized in him how she had felt towards Ellie when Ellie had suddenly crossed her path. Plus, but he had a level of intuitive protective gentleness towards kids that she had rarely seen in anybody, and she hadn't been remotely exaggerating when she had told him he'd make a great father.

But in reality she had not foreseen him making this much of a personal leap and commitment. This was _Mac_. He might impulsively throw himself into the middle of any situation no matter how dangerous without a second thought, but when it came to his personal life, he was one of the most guarded and cautious people Jo had met. Not that he certainly didn't have reason to be, Jo thought. Not only that, but he was also someone who was always in to work before anyone else, typically not leaving until long after all but the skeleton night crew had gone home. Not to mention the multiple times he simply didn't leave work for two or three days at a time. Taking in Devon would mean a drastic change in his lifestyle: from the hours he kept at work to the things he would do on a daily basis. But Jo also got the distinct feeling that Mac didn't exactly _choose_ his hours at work so much as letting them choose him.

"What did they say?" she asked him simply but seriously.

The look of relief on Mac's face that she neither made light of his statement nor reacted as if it was a _huge deal_, was instantaneous and he knew his gut feeling of confiding in her had been well placed. Despite calling Flack about it already, he wanted to talk about the whole thing in person with someone and on a less technical and logistical level than he had with Don. Jo had kids of her own, Ellie in particular, and Don did not. As understanding as Don was, Mac wanted the extra level of instinctive insight that he knew Jo would bring.

"They said it was a bit unusual but they didn't foresee any problems with getting it set up. The official social work approvals would take a couple days to push through, and until then Devon would technically stay in police custody with me under a judge's order." He paused, "I already have Don working on it."

"You said 'at least'," Jo told him after a moment.

A humorless, wry smile tugged at one corner of Mac's mouth. Jo never missed a thing. "I have no delusions where taking him in only until a 'permanent' foster home can be found will lead. It's hard enough now thinking about simply leaving him to the system, let alone having to throw him back to the wolves myself."

"So you're really going through with this," Jo said.

Mac let out a deep breath and sat down in one of the chairs as a thrill of terror shot through him. "Yeah," he said, none of it still seeming real, "Well, technically, since there's no guarantee it'll all get approved and work out."

Jo sat down around the corner of the table from him and looked at him knowingly, "Mac, there's no way they're not going to approve you for this, and you know that as well as I do."

He did. It was almost nine at night now, and the speed at which his life had turned completely upside down was staggering and leaving him struggling to catch up. "I need to get back," he said after a moment, "I told him before I left I'd be back in just a little bit."

Jo nodded and stood up. "Mind some company?" she asked, "Ellie's at a sleepover and you're going to need a shopping list."

"A shopping list?" Mac asked as he opened the door for her and they walked to the elevators.

"Yes, a shopping list," Jo told him, her eyes shining and obvious relish in her voice at Mac's tone of discomfort. "You're going to need clothes, and a booster seat for your truck…"

Now _that_ sounded just other-wordly, Mac thought.

"…and little kid cereal and poptarts and a batman toothbrush and…"

"How do you know I don't have those already?" Mac interrupted as they stepped into the parking garage.

"Have what?" Jo asked.

"What you dub 'little kid' cereal and poptarts."

Jo leveled her gaze at him. "Mac. Are you trying to tell me you have Fruity Pebbles and Lucky Charms in your cupboard?"

"Well no…"

"See?"

Mac shot her a small grin as the two of them got into his truck, "But you might find Reese's Peanut Butter Puffs. And I will have you know," he continued, "That Toaster Strudels taste far better than poptarts."

Jo looked at him with amazed approval, never once having pictured his breakfast being anything other than 'adult' cereal or a granola bar that he grabbed as he went out the door. "Mac Taylor, you never cease to surprise me. Ok," she said, fishing in Mac's glovebox and pulling out a small pad of paper and a pen on which to write her list, "But you still to get a batman toothbrush and bubblegum toothpaste."

Mac laughed, "I think I can manage that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

After finding out from the front information desk which room on the pediatric floor Devon had been moved to, Mac and Jo headed upstairs. As the elevator dinged at each level they passed, Mac found himself getting almost nervous. The light natured conversation he and Jo had continued on the drive over had quelled the weight of the whole situation, but now it all came creeping back. In part, he was sure, because he didn't like hospitals to begin with. They brought back unpleasant memories and feelings.

As he and Jo walked down the slightly curved hallway, a nurse at one of the stations stopped him. "Are you Detective Taylor?" she asked him.

"Yes," Mac replied, "I'm looking for Devon Matthews." A look of almost-relief came into the nurse's eyes at his affirmation of who he was, and at it Mac felt a little niggle of unease start in his stomach.

"815," the nurse said, "Fourth door on your left further down this hallway."

Mac bit back a somewhat sarcastic reply that instantly sprung to mind. He already had the room number he needed, and it hadn't taken a genius to figure out which direction it was in from the placards on the wall. Not to mention they had just passed 809, 810, and 811 in consecutive order, leaving not much deductive figuring that 815 was another four doors down. "Thank you," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

The door to Devon's room was half open, and from inside Mac heard the intermittent half-sniff/half-sob that was the hallmark of a child who had run out of energy to cry. He pushed the door all the way open and quickly entered the room. Devon was lying in his new hospital bed, his teddy bear still under his arm and his face streaked with mostly dry tears, one of the patient care techs sitting beside him and stroking his hair and forehead in an attempt to comfort and calm him. At the sound of Mac and Jo entering the room, Devon looked over in their direction, and upon lying eyes on Mac he burst into fresh tears of relief and reached one arm towards him.

Mac felt his heart melt and twist all at the same time and, the tech standing up and moving to where Jo was standing, he sat down on Devon's bed and gently lifted the boy into his lap. He wrapped his arms around Devon, holding the little boy's head close to his chest. "Shhhh," Mac soothed him, bending down and speaking low, "What's the matter little guy?"

Devon spoke between the spasmic jerks of his small chest. "I…thought you…wouldn't…find me," he said as he slowly relaxed in exhausted relief in Mac's strong arms.

Mac's heart did another twist. He hadn't even thought to tell Devon about the room change before he had left. As far as the four-year-old had been concerned, he'd been taken to another world when he'd been moved out of the ER and had had no idea that Mac would be able to figure out where he was. Mac felt a pang of guilt as the little body that leaning against him become almost limp as Devon grew quiet. The boy was probably beyond exhausted as Mac knew from way too much experience that sedative-induced half-sleep wasn't real sleep, and the day had long surpassed the point of long and overwhelming.

"We'll be all set," Jo told the tech, "Thank you so much."

The tech nodded and smiled and left the room.

Mac lightly rested his cheek against the top of Devon's head. "Do you want me to read you a story?" he asked.

Devon still had hiccup-y breaths, but he didn't seem to want to move, and several long seconds passed before he slowly nodded. Jo suddenly wondered if the little boy had ever had anyone read to him before. His father certainly wouldn't have. His mother might have, but Jo hadn't seen any books in the small apartment when she'd been there. A wave of sadness washed over her at the thought.

Mac reached one hand out to the small pile of books that was on the tray table next to Devon's bed. But he couldn't quite reach.

Jo quickly walked over and handed him the one from the top of the stack.

Mac mouthed his thanks, and keeping one arm wrapped around Devon he read the title out loud to the boy, "Curious George Visits the Zoo."

As Jo watched Mac open the Curious George book and start reading in a low, warm voice to the small person curled up against him, her heart absolutely melted. Whatever the eventual outcome (because Mac _was_ right about nothing being a given), at least for now Devon had the most perfect person looking out for him that Jo could think of.

Mac had gotten barely five pages into the book before Devon's eyes were completely closed and his breathing had slowed and evened as he fell into a true, drug-free sleep. Mac quietly closed the book and waited a little while longer before moving the little boy as a single, small lump and placing him on his side in the bed in the same position he'd fallen asleep. Mac pulled the sheet and blanket over Devon's shoulders and stood up from the bed. He slowly walked over to the window, looking out into the night at the city, taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair.

"Why, Jo?" he finally asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

"He trusts you," Jo told him simply, knowing exactly what Mac meant.

"But why _me_?" Mac continued, "I should be the last person he trusts, with his father being the one who…" he gestured helplessly.

Jo looked into Mac's eyes and saw the thousand conflicting thoughts and emotions that were racing through him. Mac was one of the strongest people she had met, and certainly the best boss she had ever had, but right now, he was as confused and afraid of himself as Devon was about _his_ current surroundings. Jo could only guess the depth of what Mac was experiencing, but knowing how guarded he kept himself and considering how much she could currently read from his body language, it was profound. He might have brushed off her occasional blunt comments to him in regards to having a family in embarrassed dismissal, but she had seen the wistful almost longing in his eyes at the love and dynamic she had with Ellie and Tyler. It had to hurt for him to go home alone every night. Some people might be fine and happy with it. Mac was not one of those people, and deny it to her as much as he might, she knew he felt acutely alone. And now his own need and Devon's situation and reaction to him were all mixing together in one large confused mess in his mind.

"Because he sees in you everything his father _should_ be," Jo told him, "You are the embodiment to him of the person who is supposed to protect him from the monsters under his bed as well as the real monsters of the world…the one who makes everything okay and everything going to be okay…the one his little four-year-old self doesn't yet consciously define but who he looks for. He doesn't see a representation of his biological father in you, but the entity he's been looking for his whole life."

Mac dropped his head and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck as he returned to looking out the window. He took a deep breath before asking quietly, "What if I fail him?" And there it was; the heart of what he feared the most and sent thrills of the deepest uncertainty and doubt through him. "I mean, I didn't even…" he gestured back towards Devon and thinking about the anxiety the poor kid had gone through while he was gone.

Jo took in the slump of his shoulders and the tension in his back, and while she completely understood his fear, he also was the last person who should doubt himself, especially to the extent he clearly was. She stood up and lay a hand a hand on his arm, interrupting him. "Mac Taylor, you stop right there. You have one of the biggest hearts of anybody I know. Hell, sometimes I think you look after everybody _but_ yourself." She paused. "But of course you're going to fail him to some extent at some point," she continued quietly, "You're human. It happens and it's inevitable. You're going to forget to tell him something. You're going to be on call on his birthday and have to leave. You're going to be distracted by paperwork you had to bring home and not take his excitement about something as seriously as you should." She continued quietly, "Trust me, it'll happen."

Mac could the sadness in Jo's face and hear in her voice the tone of personal regret, and knew she was speaking from personal experience.

"But," Jo continued, "It doesn't mean you love him less or that you're a horrible person and a failure. And I refuse to let you think the latter about yourself as well," she finished emphatically. "I'm not saying I know how everything will turn out, but what I _do_ know, is that little boy needs you, and you need him." She refused to let Mac drop eye contact, "He needs a _dad_, and I can't think of the more perfect person to fill the huge need in his life than you. And you need someone to love and love you back."

Jo was the most tactfully blunt (if there was such a thing) person Mac had met, and the impact of her last statement hit him as though he'd been struck in the chest with a 2x4. She was right. Right in every particular. As much as the responsibility that Devon's trust in him weighed on him, it was that same implicit trust that drew him to the little boy, and although it was in a different than he had experienced before, went not a small way to fill the void which had been his life for a very long time. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the window, looking over at the sleeping form of Devon and wondered just how such a small person had managed to swing his life in a direction he hadn't ever imagined it would go. And as he stood, letting the moment exist for what it was, a sense of peace and acceptance and warmth and wonderment crept over him.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Mac might not have minded Jo writing him up a shopping list and giving him advice on what to get, but he flatly refused to let her accompany him to the various stores in order to buy that list. It was the oddest and most surreal thing to walk through the clothes racks of children's clothing and have to pick out the right things in the right sizes, and have to decide between various cartoon themed underwear before seeing them drop into his cart and realize _he_ was buying such things, without Jo being there and gloating over his discomfort.

It was odder still to put all those things on the cashier belt and watch them being scanned through and put into bags for him to take home.

"They don't stop growing, do they?" the cashier said with a knowing shake of her head as she gave him his total for a stack of jeans, shorts and t-shirts.

"No," Mac replied, fishing in the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet and feeling strangely embarrassed.

Securing the child booster seat into the back seat of his truck was just downright mind-boggling.

He had gone out early in the day as soon as Flack had called him with the information that the judge had approved Devon's temporary custody status. It had taken a fair amount of convincing and reassuring for Devon to be alright with him leaving for a little while; but Mac had eventually been able to head out with no resulting tears or panic from the boy, Devon clutching the St. Michael medallion that retired fire chief Joe Vincent had given Mac after the Wall of Remembrance ceremony, as tangible proof that Mac would indeed be coming back. It took two trips from his truck to bring all the stuff he had bought up to his apartment and set about fixing the second, small bedroom he had, and that he really wasn't using for anything, into a place for Devon to sleep. He'd bought a camping cot and an air mattress to use until he could (and knew he had to) get an actual bed. Despite Jo's Batman recommendation the evening before, he'd ended up liking Thomas the Tank Engine more when he'd been at the store and had ended up with that as a sort of 'theme', the sheet set and quilt which he dressed the air mattress with, included. He stepped back and surveyed his work, shaking his head at the smiling Thomas nightlight which was now plugged into one of the outlets. Never had he dreamed his spare bedroom would look like this.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He and Devon spent what remained of the morning after he got back and half the afternoon watching Thomas and SpongeBob DVDs before the boy was discharged. Mac was as ignorant of current cartoons as Devon, and he would have died before admitting to Jo or Flack that part of him actually found them somewhat entertaining and interesting. Sometime around three that afternoon, the nurse came in to take out Devon's IV and have Mac sign the discharge paperwork. Devon held on to Mac's hand very tightly as she carefully removed the tape and quickly pulled out the small IV catheter, placing a bandaid on the back of his hand in its place.

Mac carefully pulled a pair of shorts and a t-shirt onto the little boy, noting with satisfaction that he had indeed picked out the correct size. They might be a bit big, but that was more than fine.

"Where are we going?" Devon asked Mac.

Mac had told the boy earlier that they'd be leaving the hospital later that day and he'd be staying with Mac for a while. But Mac could tell Devon hadn't even sort of grasped the abstract and foreignness of such a concept. He looked up from tying the boy's shoe. "We're going to leave the hospital and you're going come stay with me for a little bit."

Devon looked at Mac, trying to wrap his head around what Mac had told him. "Where's daddy?" he asked finally.

"In jail," Mac told him evenly.

" 'cause he hurt me and mommy?" Devon asked.

"Yes," Mac told him.

"Where's mommy?"

Mac paused before answering. "You know how your daddy hurt your mom?"

Devon nodded. "He was mad," he told Mac solemnly, "She told him to stop an' he didn't like it."

Mac curiosity was piqued and he decided to take advantage of the presented natural opportunity. "Do you know what he was doing that she wanted him stop?" he asked quietly and gently.

Devon didn't say anything. His face flushed and his little chest rose and fell rapidly as his eyes shone with freshly accumulated tears.

"Hey, hey," Mac said, laying his hand on the side of the boy's face, "It's ok. You don't have to tell me."

But Devon mutely pointed to below the waistband of his shorts where one of the round cigarette burns was. His tears spilled over as all the memories and feelings and pain and terror he had gone through the prior day rushed back and overwhelmed him.

Mac gathered the little boy into his arms and Devon immediately wrapped himself around Mac's neck as he cried into his shoulder.

"He…wouldn't…stop," Devon sobbed.

Mac felt as though his heart would tear in two. He closed his arms even more protectively and securely around Devon as he spoke low and reassuringly into the little boy's ear.

He also now knew what had happened. Whatever the accident had been that Devon had referenced himself to having committed the prior day, Jason Matthews had been both drunk enough and mad enough to go after Devon with such a singular, merciless intent that the boy had become convinced that the assault wouldn't stop. Apparently, so had Aubrea Matthews who must have tried to pull her husband away from her son and in doing so had redirected his anger towards her and made it escalate. Devon had fled to the back of the closet while Jason beat his wife. Whether or not Jason had been cognizant that he had killed Aubrea or not, the sight of her falling unresponsive to the floor must have shaken him enough to cause him to flee the scene, temporarily forgetting about Devon, and pitching the paperweight in the dumpster as he passed it.

"Come on," Mac told Devon quietly as boy slowly calmed down in the safety and comfort of his embrace, "Let's get out of here."

Somehow, as he carried Devon through the hospital and out to his truck, the feeling of boy's head on his shoulder and shoes gently bumping against his waist with each step he took filled his chest with a warmth that spread throughout his whole body. There was going to be no 'at least' to any of this if he had the slightest say in the matter.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Devon just stood and looked around with wide eyes, practically leeched to Mac's side as Mac set him down and closed the apartment door behind them. Mac smiled as he hung his keys on the hook next to the door, although now the boy was actually _in_ his apartment, he realized just how 'adult' the place really was. For goodness sake, he hadn't even been able to trust Adam in it when his ADHD tech guru had stopped by for something work related a couple times. Although, he thought, looking back down at Devon, at least until the boy got used to his new surroundings, he had a feeling his things were safer around the four-year-old than around Adam.

He took Devon's hand. "Want to see your bedroom?" he asked.

"Ok," Devon said in a small voice, clearly overwhelmed by everything.

Mac walked slowly with him through the kitchen and towards the hall. But as they were about to turn away from the living room, Devon stopped and stared over his shoulder at something he'd seen.

"What's that?" he asked shyly.

Mac turned his head to look in the direction Devon was pointing. He smiled as he realized what the boy was looking at. "That's a bass," he informed Devon.

"What's a bass?" Devon asked.

Mac's smile grew broader. "It's a musical instrument," he said.

"Oh," Devon said. But he continued staring at it.

"You want to touch it?" Mac asked him.

Devon didn't answer, but slowly made his way over to where the bass was leaning on its stand next to Mac's amp. He hesitantly reached out one finger and cautiously poked one of the strings. He quickly pulled his hand back as though that was as far as his bravery went. Mac came up and knelt beside him. "Do you like it?" he asked, wrapping his arm around Devon's waist.

Devon nodded.

"Do you know how to pluck the strings?" Mac asked.

Devon shook his head.

"Watch," Mac said as he reached his hand out and plucked the highest string. Unplugged, the sound was of course very small and muted, but a look of the highest intrigue spread over Devon's face. "You try it," Mac told him.

Devon hesitated, making sure with a look that Mac had really meant what he had just said.

"Go on," Mac encouraged him with a smile.

Devon slowly lay one finger on the same string that Mac had, and screwing up his courage, plucked it. He jerked his hand back as soon as he had done it, but a look of wonderment spread across his whole face at the tiny but distinct sound he had made.

* * *

><p><em>continued in an epilogue...<em>


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_four months later…_

"Where's Mac?" Jo asked, peering in puzzlement at Mac's empty office, "I haven't seen him all morning.

"I think he called in sick," Adam told her.

"_Mac_? Call in sick?" Jo repeated in astonishment.

"Yeah I know," Adam said, "I don't think that's ever happened before."

"Well I'm sure it had to have happened at some point, Adam," Jo said, "Everyone gets sick."

"I don't think Mac does," Adam said.

Jo just shot him a look before dialing Mac's number and walking down the hall to her office. But Mac didn't pick up.

He had initially taken three weeks off after getting guardianship of Devon and had come to work only part-time for another two weeks after that. Besides the intrinsic adjustment and huge life change the child had gone through, it had taken a good while and the seemingly infinite patience that Mac possessed, to get the boy to _do_ anything and bear any resemblance to a normal child. Jo had never seen a four-year-old just sit or stand and wait for permission for everything. The poor kid hadn't even seemed to know the concept of playing. Not to mention the amount of time it had taken for Devon to be ok with being left alone with anyone besides Mac. But between the resiliency of young kids to be able to adapt, and Mac's knack for seeming to know exactly what the boy needed and how far on any given day to push or just shelter him, Devon had made incredible progress.

But Mac had returned to work full-time, and although he'd been far more cognizant of keeping to his actual work schedule, he hadn't missed a day. Jo wasn't in slightest bit worried by the fact that he had now called in sick, but the man not answering his phone was very unusual, and by the time one in the afternoon rolled around and Jo had neither heard from him nor been able to reach him, she started to get a little concerned. She called Flack who hadn't heard anything either. Having to go out anyway she decided to stop by his apartment just to make sure everything was alright.

As she got off on the ninth floor of his apartment building and made her way down the hallway towards his door, the sound of music being played very loudly from one of the residences got more pronounced. Her puzzlement grew even greater as she stopped outside Mac's door and realized that the music was coming from _his_ apartment. She knocked, but there wasn't an answer. Although given the volume of the music emanating from inside, she wasn't surprised. She fished out the key Flack had lent her and opened the door.

Her growing concern instantly evaporated and a grin spread across her face at the sight that met her eyes. Mac was sitting on the couch in his living room, hair looking as if he'd just rolled out of bed, his bass on one knee and Devon perched in front of it on the other. Both were wearing identical, ancient and faded Marine t-shirts (Devon happily drowning in his), shorts and bare feet. Devon's hair was even messier than Mac's and his nose looked red and raw, but he held a pair of drumsticks and was keeping an amazingly good beat on a small and rather beat-up looking tom drum. They were both playing enthusiastically along to the music that was blasting from Mac's speakers, and Jo nearly burst out laughing as she caught them just in time to hear them belting out the words, "_Purple haze…!_" in unison, Mac proceeding to sing along to all the lyrics with Devon chiming in each time the words "purple haze" came along. The contrast to the grim-faced Mac with a gun and badge and Kevlar who showed no fear in the face of danger and gunfire and who could make even the most confident and brazen criminals squirm in interrogation, couldn't have more starkly opposite.

Mac suddenly realized Jo was standing in his apartment and whipped his head around, looking himself rather like a kid who'd gotten caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. He smiled sheepishly at Jo and finished the song before turning off his stereo with the remote that had been sitting on the couch next to him and setting his bass on the floor. Devon turned his head to glance briefly at Mac before looking over in Jo's direction as well. He instantly squirmed backwards in Mac's lap and lay his head on Mac's chest while looking shyly at Jo.

Jo applauded as she walked towards them. "That sounded wonderful guys!" she said, beaming at Devon and shooting Mac an inquisitive glance. It was obvious Devon was the one who was sick, but rock music was hardly a therapy she was all that familiar with.

"Cold medicine works wonders," Mac answered her unspoken question. "You were quite miserable this morning before we went out to the store to get it, weren't you little guy," Mac said, ruffling Devon's hair.

Devon nodded.

"You want to show Jo what you got a couple weeks ago?" Mac asked him.

Devon's eyes lit up as he pushed himself off Mac's chest and pointed at the drum, eyes shining. "This," he announced proudly.

"That's really cool!" Jo told him.

"Do you remember what kind of drum it is?" Mac prompted him.

"A tom-tom drum," Devon said even prouder than before.

"An upside-down ice cream bucket wasn't cutting it anymore," Mac added wryly and shifted his focus as Devon suddenly pulled on the neck of his t-shirt to get his attention. Mac leaned his head down as Devon whispered something in his ear so Jo couldn't hear. "Of course," he told the boy, sitting back up. He slid Devon off his knee, and Jo hid a smile behind her hand as Mac's t-shirt which the boy was wearing, suddenly fell to below his knees and almost to his hands. Mac's eyes shone with amusement as well. "Here," he said to Devon, "Let's take that off just for a minute so it doesn't get in the way. We can put it back on as soon you get back. You got the snap or do you need help?" he asked, pulling the t-shirt over Devon's head and indicating the snap on the boy's shorts.

"I got it," Devon said. He disappeared down the hallway and a moment later, Mac and Jo heard the sound of the bathroom door closing.

"I'm surprised we haven't been called out here on a noise complaint," Jo said, sitting down in one of the chairs that was in the living room.

Mac laughed, "Oh come one, it wasn't _that_ loud."

Jo just looked at him. "Then explain how you didn't hear your phone all morning," she retorted.

"Sorry," Mac replied sheepishly.

"So, a drum, eh?" Jo asked, arching one eyebrow.

"Yeah," Mac said, "He actually wants a guitar, 'A _real_ guitar, not a _bass_ guitar' as he so bluntly put it to me."

Jo laughed at the look on Mac's face as he quoted Devon.

"But he's so small for his age yet," Mac continued, "That there's really none that would work. Besides, he's a bit young for it anyway, and this will let him just absorb and enjoy music without struggling with anything. I told him if he still wants one we can get him one for his sixth birthday."

Jo just looked at him in a very satisfied sort of way, the life in Mac's eyes about sharing one of his passions with Devon fairly radiating off him.

"What?" Mac asked.

"You'll be so cute together," she said, the '_awww_' factor fairly dripping from her voice.

Mac just half-glared at her embarrassedly.

"So how's he doing overall?" Jo asked.

"Not too bad," Mac replied, leaning back on the couch and locking his fingers behind his head and glancing over his shoulder down the hall. _The kid was taking a while_, he thought. "I have a feeling I'm soon going to have to deal with the normal four-year-old behavior of him running harum-scarum all over the place. Well, at least around here," he said, indicating their apartment, "He doesn't budge from my side when we go out, which I am more than perfectly fine with. But there haven't been any issues leaving him at pre-school for a while now." He paused before continuing quieter, "He still wakes me occasionally from a nightmare that his father's chasing him down, but they're getting less frequent too."

"You know this suits you," Jo said after a moment and smiling at Mac.

"What does?" Mac asked.

"This," Jo gestured at Mac, "You, in an old t-shirt and shorts, calling in sick to work in order to take care of a runny nose, and teaching a four-year-old to play drums of all things. You're happy, relaxed. And correct me if I'm mistaken, but I think I see cereal bowls and the remnants of grilled cheese _still_ on the counter. Are you letting your apartment get into a little bit of a mess?"

Mac looked slightly embarrassed, but he smiled. Jo didn't say it explicitly but he knew what she meant: it looked and felt like a home. It wasn't just someplace with cool things in it that he came back to to have dinner and watch some tv before going to bed and then return to work the next day. It was _lived_ in and shared.

"So when's the adoption stuff getting finalized?" Jo queried.

Mac made a wry face. "Not for another three or four months," he said. "I've never had to deal with so much paperwork and hoops to jump through. Well," he amended, "I have, just not on a personal level like this."

"Yeah, it's no joke," Jo confirmed, thinking back to the logistical hassle of when she'd adopted Ellie.

Just then Devon came back holding the waistline of his shorts together and a slight frown on his face. "Daddy I can't get it to do back up," he said, stopping in front of Mac.

"Oh this is the ornery pair of shorts isn't it," Mac said, never quite getting used to the jolt of surprise and warmth that filled him whenever Devon called him 'daddy'. He had never asked the boy to; Devon had just done it on his own a couple weeks after coming to live with Mac, and it had reminded Mac of what Jo had told him that night at the hospital about Devon unconsciously looking for and needing a _dad_.

"Yes," Devon said in a strained voice as he continued trying to close the fastener that was refusing to cooperate.

"Here, let me get that," Mac said gently, placing his hands over Devon's.

Jo didn't miss Mac's eyes softening at what Devon had called him, and for some reason she felt a lump in her throat as she watched the seemingly simple and trivial act of Mac doing up the stubborn snap on Devon's shorts. They suited and needed each other in so many ways, she thought, both of them having been equally lost and desperate in their own way. But somehow these two had found one another, each filling a gaping void in other's life.

Mac dropped his t-shirt back over Devon's head. He couldn't hold back a small laugh at how it completely drowned the small boy. "How about we get you just like this but in your size?" he asked Devon.

"Could I wear it to pre-school?" Devon asked.

"Of course," Mac replied.

Devon's eyes shone.

"Now," Mac said, lifting the boy back up to his knee, "What shall we play for Jo next?"

Devon, still rather shy, leaned up and whispered in Mac's ear.

"Yeah?" Mac asked him.

Devon nodded.

"Ok," Mac said, picking up his bass and the stereo remote again.

Devon's shyness disappeared as soon the music started and Jo nearly laughed as he sang along at the top of his voice and out of tune in the way only a little kid could while keeping beat on the drum, "_We got the 'oooooohs'," _his lips pursed exaggeratedly as he drew out the 'ooooooh_'_,_ "We got the 'aaaaaaaahs'_…"

Mac's eyes sparkled as he played and sang (_he actually has a pretty good voice_, Jo thought, impressed), with as much spirit as the little boy on his knee, cuing Devon when to get quieter and when to ratchet up a particular riff, although Devon already knew where several of the dynamic points were and it was clear just how often the two of them did this. They finished off the song with a flourish, Jo applauding. Mac took Devon's hand and stood him up, the two of them taking a deep stage bow in her direction.

Two damaged souls had been reborn.

* * *

><p><em>And there you have it. <em>'The End'. _I really hope you guys liked it, and I want to send out a HUGE thank you for my reviewers! You guys rock and I love you all! And in case anyone was wondering (and as sort of a disclaimer), the two songs referenced are _'Purple Haze'_ by Jimi Hendrix and _'Oohs and Ahhs' _by __Need To Breathe. And for anyone who reads my other stuff, yes, the conclusion of this story means I will be getting back to my other fics in progress. Once again, THANK YOU for reading!_


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